


i can't return

by ninata



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Animal Death, Emetophobia, M/M, Spoilers, this is ishida btw but theres no ishida tag ):
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only I could see you one more time (I know I can't) / I wish my love could reach you / If only I could see you one more time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't return

Ishida hates.

He is full of rage, of hatred. His bitten down nails scrape aimlessly at his neck, his eyes are heavy with tears and insomnia.

There are many words he never got to say-- that the idiot Ishimaru never got to say-- things he wanted to do.

If he could-- If he could, he'd want to take him someplace nice. He'd like to take him on a hike in the forests of Mount Fuji. He'd like to look over the horizon with him, he'd like to reach over and hold Oowada's hand and watch his cheeks flush and head turn away as he pouted.

Ishida lies in his bed, curled into a tight ball. His breaths come out heavy, yet fast. His world shakes.

Maybe he never understood Oowada. Maybe he was wrong to think he could.

Ishida wanted to ride his motorcycle with him. He'd probably go too fast. Ishida would laugh, he'd hold on tight and he'd be so close to him. He may even be able to feel his heartbeat.

Ishida wanted to help him study. He'd chide him for poor study habits. They could pull an all-nighter together! Oowada would surely be against it, complaining the whole way through. Maybe he'd give up on his Algebra and go make some coffee for the two of them. Ishida hates coffee, but it does help him stay awake. Oowada would come back with two mugs, set one down by him, and take a swig from his own. He'd say, "Still workin'? Jesus Christ. I don't get you." or something akin to that.

It would have been...nice. A kind of familiarity he'd never experienced. A happiness he'd never felt before.

If he could have...If Ishida could have, he'd have done anything to stop him.

If he could have, he would have liked to take his place. He wonders if he should have killed someone first, if that would have saved him. Oowada would never worry about his secret getting out. Ishida would take the fall-- No, Ishimaru would. Ishimaru would take the fall, and get spun round and round until he was no more. Then Oowada could live a happy life, he would surely survive the other motives and protect himself and stand by the others as the doors to the school opened once again.

Ishida is hunched over a toilet bowl, the contents of his stomach emptying duly as he wretches into the cloudy water.

He wanted to see him with his hair down again, like it was in the baths. He'd like to touch that curly, bleached hair. He wanted to see him in summer. He'd be in his tank top, grumbling about the heat, his dark skin just a little sweaty, his muscles moving like fluid. He'd be-- he'd be beautiful, he would.

...God, what's _wrong_ with him?

He wipes his clammy lips on the back of his wrist. The cold tiled floor is unforgivably blank.

Ishida wants strange things. Ishimaru could never have admitted to such feelings, let alone entertained them. But then again, Ishimaru was weak, and Oowada is dead now. Ishida has no choice but to fantasize and wish.

What would it feel like to love someone?

Ishimaru-- Ishida doesn't know. Ishimaru loved his parents, of course. He loved his family, he loved the father that smiled and ruffled his hair, he loved the mother that made him extra onigiri for lunch because he had a big appetite. But Ishida never felt such a strong, positive feeling-- not like he did with Oowada.

He longed for that feeling, that warm fuzziness, like someone had reached out and tapped the center of his chest, rippling sensations of happiness radiating from the touch. Ishimaru never cared enough to think about this kind of thing. He always assumed he'd never get married. He'd never date someone. He'd never fall in love.

Was it love?

He's in his bed again. His hands swipe up his face, heels of his palms pressing into his eyes. If there are any tears left, they collect and fall down his cheeks. He doesn't feel them.

At this point, he just wants to die. A world without him isn't worth it. Because it's not just him, it's everything, it's all the people who told him he couldn't do it. It's the staples in his coat's sleeves, it's the death threats scrawled on his desk, it's the dead animals in his shoe locker. It's the fact the only people who supported him were the people who needed to support him. His parents, who had no choice but to believe in their failure of a son, and hope that maybe one day he'd be good enough to bring honor back to his family's name.

Hope! That's a word he hates. He hates this whole idea that if you pray hard enough things will go right. They've never gone right, and now Oowada-kun-- Oowada-- is dead, and it's his fault.

He chokes on his sobs. He hates it all. He hates that his parents only loved him out of necessity. He hates that no one ever chose to care about him. He was no one's decision. He wasn't chosen. He was nothing, he was always nothing, he was always stinging and red, bubbling and overflowing with disappointment and grief.

If Oowada is gone, what's the point? What's the point of anything? Why is he here? To keep his name alive? To keep his gang together once he escapes? To pretend Oowada isn't dead? God, it hurts. It hurts so badly, and he doesn't even know why. It's...It's just so unfair. Why? Why, dammit..?

He wants to be angry, but the only person he can be angry at is himself, and that piss-poor excuse for a guy named Ishimaru. He's not even mad at Monobear. He's not mad at anyone.

Flames flicker, dancing in the corners of his vision. Ishida feels like a husk, scraped raw and empty, his red eyes like dripping pools of blood. Thick, gloppy, without any light in them. He remembers those violet eyes, blooming like flowers, full of life and vigor. He remembers hearing that voice, fuzzy from the laptop's speakers, the face of the only person who ever made him happy. He remembers the darkness, his friend, his only friend standing and reaching out to him.

He's swimming in his own misery, fingers twitching. That one last vision of his precious Kyoudai was enough to last him a lifetime, yet he's still left wanting.

He wanted...so much. Just from one small act of kindness, one pat on the back, one smile, it all tore Ishida apart inside and planted seeds of happiness that were only going to wither away.

He'll be spending another sleepless night in this Hell of a school, it seems.

It's...so lonely, he thinks. So lonely here. He never paid much attention to being lonely, but now it's unbearable.

"Hey, Oowada." He says it aloud. "Are you listenin', you bastard?

"No one...no one was ever that nice to me," He begins. "No one ever...made me smile that much. I always wanted a friend...just one goddamn friend. And you were...you were more than a friend. We only knew each other for a lil' while...but I really...

"I really...appreciated...how kind you were to me...even when I didn't deserve it. Even when I was rude and blunt...Even when I was annoying. You were so kind, Oowada-kun..."

He tries to swallow, but his throat is so thick with snot, it hurts.

"I'm...sorry...I never got to say it...but...I like you!"

He's just lying there, babbling to no one, a smile drawn on his features in an unnatural way. His eyes are clouded over with tears.

"I like you...Oowada-kun...I really, really..."

He'll never hear it, he thinks.

This intense despair will never fade. The summer has shifted into autumn, into winter. It's all so cold. He is shaking, he trembles and holds onto himself, because there isn't anyone he will ever want like that again, and it's all too much to think he's gone forever.

He wishes he was dead instead.

He just wishes he was dead.

A note is slipped under his door. He sits, leaned against his pillows, and weeps.


End file.
